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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28605921">Scene by Scene</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mekana47/pseuds/mekana47'>mekana47</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, Background Relationships, Charity Auctions, Coercion, Community: theoldguardkinkmeme, Domdrop, Hurt/Comfort, Kneeling, M/M, Misunderstandings, Panic Attacks, Safeword Use, Spanking, Subdrop, Subspace, Wax Play</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:22:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,225</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28605921</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mekana47/pseuds/mekana47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Booker kicks at his ankle, letting Joe’s boot absorb most of the blow. “Actually, he’s about as far from me as you can get, yeah. If you ever have to write a three-sentence summary of your preferences and limits, it’d look pretty close to this, I’d guess.”</p><p>Joe huffs softly. “I’m just here to drive up prices.”</p><p>-or-</p><p>At a charity auction at his friends' bdsm club, Joe buys a stranger for the weekend. He couldn't have known Nicky's dom coerced him into signing up.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova/Original Male Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>196</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>413</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I have a very, very rough draft of this whole story, so updates should be... regular-ish.</p><p>Inspired by the Old Guard Kink Meme prompt <a href="https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4011.html?thread=1208235#cmt1208235">HERE</a>.</p><p>Unbeta'd so feel free to point out any typos or strangeness.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I was starting to think you weren’t going to show,” Nile says.</p><p>Her gaze is penetrating, but she doesn’t get up from the chair set outside the club’s open door. The actual bouncer is just inside, watching over what sounds like a large crowd.</p><p>“Lost track of time,” Joe admits. It’s true, but it’s also easier to blame his latest painting than to say he waited as long as he could, hoping absolutely anything would happen so he wouldn’t have to come. He might’ve bailed entirely if he hadn’t already promised to drive up prices if the bidding is going too slowly.</p><p>“You’ve got…” Nile gestures to her own cheek.</p><p>Joe swipes at the skin and studies his fingertips— yellow paint from the commission that gave him so much trouble all afternoon. Nile sighs, but Joe’s mostly impressed he managed to change into a clean shirt and put on his jacket without ruining them. He rubs his fingers until the tacky mostly-dry substance falls away. </p><p>“At least any sub you win will know what they’re in for,” she teases, handing him his bidding paddle and a flyer with the photos and descriptions of everyone up for auction. The last of the paint comes off on the white page.</p><p>“I’m not buying,” Joe reminds her. He may have helped Andy and Quynh hammer out some of the potential pitfalls of a sub auction at their bdsm club, but he’s been clear from the start that he won’t be inflecting some unsuspecting sub with a weekend with him.</p><p>“Uh-huh.”</p><p>Joe crinkles his nose at her, but she just laughs and waves her hand at the door. </p><p>“They’re just about to start. Booker saved you a seat.”</p><p>“Great.” </p><p>Joe pauses as he steps inside The Old Guard. The dance floor and most of the seating area have been rearranged so rows of chair face the stage. It’s jarring to see such a big crowd in the space while all the lights are on. Usually in The Old Guard, it can feel like he and his partner are the only ones there, but tonight, for this event, there’s nowhere to hide.</p><p>He spots Andy lingering at the side of the stage. He can pick out her nerves even at this distance, but she’s subtle enough few others will know. When she meets his gaze, she nods and raises one eyebrow. </p><p>He lifts his right back, refusing to accept her chastisement for cutting it close. It’s enough he’s willing to support her, Quynh, and the charity for the night.</p><p>“Joe!” Booker’s voice is easy to pick out over the low murmur of conversations through the crowd, and Joe weaves to the far side of the converted dance floor.</p><p>“Nice to see you here,” Booker teases as Joe drops into the seat that’s been saved for him.</p><p>“You too?” Joe ruffles his hair just to hear him squawk.</p><p> Booker finger-combs the mess, tidying it with ease. “Well, you look nice. You even washed off the paint for us?”</p><p>“Nile cleaned me up at the door,” Joe deadpans. Let Booker decide if that’s true or not. Joe jerks his chin to the stage. “I’m surprised you’re not up there.”</p><p>“Thought about it,” Booker says, wistful. His fingers dance over the thin blue wrist cuff he only started wearing two weeks ago. “Then I realized only two people would be willing to risk upsetting Quynh and Andy for me. Nile would swoop in to save me the embarrassment of no bidders, but she’s says she’s finally going to shoot her shot with Number 7 tonight. I’d feel terrible if I ruined her chance.” Booker knocks their knees together. “And I love you, sunshine, but a whole weekend together? We’d kill each other.”</p><p>Joe snorts and pulls him into a half-hug, patting his back, but it’s true. He and Booker had spent their university years playing around and experimenting together just long enough to realize their needs and desires weren’t compatible. Before Booker had gotten into this budding arrangement with Andy and Quynh, Joe had worked him through one-off performances on occasion, but an entire weekend would either end in a fight or the two of them watching football while Booker lamented all the sex he could’ve been getting from his dommes.</p><p>“Get off me, you softie,” Booker grumbles and pulls out of his hold.</p><p>Joe lets him go and looks at the flyer for the first time. “I assume Number 7 is the goth girl she’s been eying?”</p><p>“Yep.” Booker pops the ‘p’ and smirks.</p><p>“Good for her.”</p><p>The crowd falls silent, people shuffling to the last seats, as Quynh strides up on the stage in a striking red leather dress. Booker catcalls her, and she grins. </p><p>“Welcome, everyone, to The Old Guard, and thank you for coming to our charity auction. Tonight’s proceeds and half of each winning bid are going to the local lgbtq youth center. So be generous with your wallets, be ready with your paddle—” laughter ripples through the crowd and some of the tension slides out of Joe’s shoulders— “and let’s show these subs some good, clean fun.”</p><p>Quynh sweeps her arm to the side, and the audience applauds. The subs file up the two steps and across the back of the stage, all fifteen of them in black pants and white shirts of some variety. </p><p>As Joe scans the line of men and women, he recognizes most of them. Number 5 has cried in Joe’s lap in one of the backrooms after Joe showed him the glory of sounding. Number 9 had bruised beautifully under Joe’s cane a few months back. Number 12 had been Joe’s sub for the most popular floor show the club had ever seen when Joe dropped him and had him sinking deeper with each precise stinging kiss of his bullwhip. </p><p>He’s more surprised to see two he doesn’t know. He’d expected the auction to be limited to regulars as a safety precaution. Number 8’s a petite red-head, grinning and bouncing on the toes of some truly impractical heels. Number 15’s tall and solid, taking everything in with a neutral expression.</p><p>Joe would remember seeing this sub before.</p><p>“Do you know 15?” he asks Booker.</p><p>“I think Quynh might’ve vouched for that one?” Booker smirks and steals Joe’s flyer from his lax fingers. “Yeah, fifteen’s name is Nicky. Pronouns are he and him. You’ve heard Quynh talk about her friend the doctor?”</p><p>Joe can’t remember.</p><p>Nicky’s pale eyes float above the crowd, and Joe reassesses his judgement. He’s taking in nothing, but then Joe would be nervous, too, if he were in his place. </p><p>Oh, he’s definitely never suggesting Quynh and Andy try this the other way around.</p><p>“Seems like your type,” Booker says, even as Quynh calls for Number 1 to come to the front of the stage.</p><p>“He’s not you?”</p><p>Booker kicks at his ankle, letting Joe’s boot absorb most of the blow. “Actually, he’s about as far from me as you can get, yeah. If you ever have to write a three-sentence summary of your preferences and limits, it’d look pretty close to this, I’d guess.”</p><p>Joe huffs softly. “I’m just here to drive up prices.”</p><p>Booker twists in his seat, trying to force eye contact. “It’s been a year, Joe. You’re allowed to play with someone again.”</p><p>Joe grimaces, studying the stage without looking at anyone. He hasn’t been hiding how in the past year he only paired with subs for a single scene at the club, never doing repeats and certainly never taking them home. He should’ve known Booker would be the first to call him on his strategy to avoid another heartbreak. </p><p>“It’s just a weekend,” Booker adds, too gently.</p><p>Laughter ripples through the audience, and Joe uses the distraction to focus on the sub at the front of the stage. It’s little surprise they’ve lifted the hem of their shirt to show a glimpse of abs and pale hair disappearing under their waistband. Their reputation for being a brat who enjoys toeing whatever line a dom sets makes them the perfect sub to loosen up the crowd and set a fairly high bar for the prices.</p><p>“Let’s start the bidding,” Quynh says.</p><p>The auction’s a surprisingly joyful affair. Quynh is a pro at walking that line between heckling a bidder and encouraging them to spend more money for a good cause. When someone does drop out, Quynh thanks them for doing what they could before refocusing on the bidders still in the battle. It keeps the crowd polite, and some of the vigilance starts to leak from Joe’s shoulders.</p><p>This is actually going well.</p><p>By the time Number 5 goes without Joe having to place a single bid, he realizes he’s spent more time staring at Nicky than watching anyone else.</p><p>The black pants highlight his strong thighs every time he rocks back on his heels, and his shirt is showing just enough chest to be a tease, but the way he keeps biting his lip without seeming to realize it is driving Joe wild.</p><p>“Give me that,” he murmurs, taking the flyer back from Booker.</p><p>Booker snorts but doesn’t say anything, probably less because he wants to be encouraging and more that he can’t seem to look away from Quynh taming an entire crowd with nothing more than her voice. </p><p>Joe can be happy for Booker without thinking about that.</p><p>He folds the flyer and scans the scant lines of type next to Nicky’s name. It’s not much to go on, but Booker is right. They are shockingly compatible.</p><p>Number 6 sells quickly, but Joe hardly notices, only tuning back into the auction when Number 7 steps to the front.</p><p>Quynh stops heckling the bidders to spend more for the sake of the children as Nile follows through and bids on Number 7. When Nile wins, Number 7 looks just as happy with the result.</p><p>As the auction continues, Joe’s eyes draw back to Nicky. He’s buried his hands in his pockets, making his thighs even more distracting, and the decision’s made.</p><p>What is a fun, casual weekend with a hot sub if not a few one-off scenes in a row?</p><p>Joe slumps back in his seat. Maybe by the time all the other subs have been sold, Nicky will have done something to put Joe off this ridiculous idea. It doesn’t seem likely, and Joe’s not sure he even wants to be dissuaded, but he watches closely anyway.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nicky struggles to deal with being auctioned off to a stranger.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There’s a fair chance Nicky is going to throw up.</p><p>He lets his chin drop toward his chest and tries to breathe through the surging panic.</p><p>The young goth sub, Number 7, had barely drawn any bidders, and Nicky can’t focus enough to see how the next sub is fairing.</p><p>It’s stupid to only now realize that with each sub sold, there have to be fewer doms and partners bidding. With Nicky’s 15 as the last, he might not get bid on at all. He certainly won’t be able to drive up the price like Mark wants.</p><p>Would it be so bad if no one bid on him? It’d be a brief embarrassment, but he could go home, sleep off the rough surgery he’d performed earlier. Tomorrow morning, he could go to Mark’s for breakfast and maybe they could do a scene good enough to make him forget his embarrassment.</p><p>Because Mark’s embarrassment <em>would</em> linger. </p><p>Nicky swallows roughly and raises his head to stare back out over the crowd. As much as he and Mark have pricked at each other lately, Nicky tries to be a good sub.</p><p>A bidding war breaks out over Number 12, and Nicky tunes back in to figure out it’s only two bidders. The first sub had had at least seven people vying for him.</p><p>The stage lights burn too hot, but Nicky finds the pocket of calm he uses on long days in the emergency room and trying scenes with Mark. It makes him look steadier than he feels.</p><p>Thirteen and fourteen also have two-person bidding wars, but Nicky’s concentrating so hard on keeping his position that he can’t tell how many people are still without subs.</p><p>When Quynh calls for Number 15, he steps forward on autopilot. Sweat makes his shirt cling to the small of his back, and each step makes it scrape his already overstimulated nerves. Standing still makes the tremors in his stomach start again. </p><p>Most of the crowd have already made their purchases. No one’s going to want him.</p><p>He tries to offer Quynh a reassuring smile. He can’t focus enough to read her expression before she turns back to the crowd and says something that gets a single cheer.</p><p>“Who will start the bidding?” Quynh asks.</p><p>A paddle goes up instantly, and Nicky could cry. </p><p>He drops his eyes and focuses on slowing his breath. With any luck, it looks like he’s being submissive or at least a blank canvas for whatever the dom in the crowd wants. </p><p>Nicky’s breath catches mid-inhale. </p><p>Whatever the dom wants. </p><p>With the stress of the auction, he’d allowed himself to forget what happens after, how he’s about to be sent off to some dom’s home or hotel room or who knows where for an entire weekend. He’s never been to this club before. There’s no chance he’ll end up with someone he knows.</p><p>“Sold!” Quynh claps her hand against her leather clad thigh, and Nicky flinches at the crack.</p><p>He’s not sure if he’s supposed to move back to the line or stay where he is, but his legs have started shaking, and he doesn’t want to risk draw attention to himself. </p><p>Quynh’s voice is playful and confident as she wraps up the event, and it soothes Nicky’s nerves just a little. She’s a good friend, and she takes her role in the community seriously. She’ll tell him if he needs to know something about the stranger who just bought him.</p><p>Noise rushes back in as the crowd clamber out of their chairs, talking and wandering to the bar or the two stations set up for the buyers and the subs. </p><p>“Nicky,” Quynh says. She rarely calls him by his name, and her tone is so gentle it almost hurts.</p><p>He makes the effort to look at her. “Hi.”</p><p>Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes, and it feels like another disappointment. “Are you okay?”</p><p>“Just nerves,” he says, not sure if it’s true or not anymore, but if he decides not to do the only thing Mark has asked of him lately, something Nicky agreed to do, Mark probably won’t trust him again. </p><p>A young black woman appears at Quynh’s side. “Quynh, we need you to help deal with the buyers.”</p><p>Quynh lifts her chin in acknowledgement without looking away from Nicky, but the woman doesn’t seem to mind, merging back into the crowd effortlessly. </p><p>“Joe is a good man,” she promises, and Nicky nods. The way they set up the auction, everyone has probably been vetted several times over, but there are plenty of ways to hide under goodness. Nicky sees it all the time at the hospital.</p><p>“Andy will help you with the paperwork, and anything else you might need.” Her hand is gentle on his elbow, but it’s almost too much input anyway. “You never have to do anything you don’t want to.”</p><p>“I’m okay,” Nicky says.</p><p>Quynh frowns, but someone calls her name from the crowd. She takes a slow step back, evaluating him as her hand falls from his arm. She’s never seen him in a purely social situation like this, but something must convince her, because she slips off the stage and winds toward the table for the buyers.</p><p>Nicky’s feet feel leaden as he walks off the stage. He shies away from clustered people and stray elbows until he reaches the table where Andy’s handing clipboards to the other subs who were just bought. The nausea races back at that thought, and his dry eyes burn. He pulls on a neutral expression as he takes the clipboard with his name.</p><p>He’s already filled out a mountain of forms consenting to the auction, agreeing to the monetary distributions, and detailing more about his own preferences than he ever would’ve considered on his own. He flips over the page with his name and stares down at the detailed checklist he’d filled out last weekend at Mark’s house. Mark had been almost sweet when Nicky had finished, pulling out Nicky’s favorite toys and pushing him just enough it felt like a reward.</p><p>Nicky’s supposed to be updating his preferences now that he knows who bought him, but the lines of the page swim. He can’t concentrate on anything but the reality of the situation he’s put himself in.</p><p>A stranger is going to be using him for the next 48 hours. </p><p>His breath speeds up without his permission.</p><p>Someone nudges his elbow.</p><p>“Hey.” A sub grins when Nicky looks up. “Congratulations. I’m so jealous you got Joe’s attention.”</p><p>Nicky cocks his head. “Why’s that?” His voice still sounds strained to his own ears.</p><p>The sub laughs. “I saw the show he put on with the bullwhip a couple weeks ago. What I wouldn’t give to be in your position.”</p><p>Nicky’s stomach drops out again, and he clenches the clipboard to keep his hands from trembling. A bullwhip? He’s been sold to someone who uses tools like that? Nicky enjoys pain blurring into his pleasure, the thud of a paddle, the slap from a strap, and even the burn from a cane on his ass occasionally, but bullwhips are dangerous in the wrong hands.</p><p>The sub nudges him again. “Enjoy it for the both of us, yeah?” There’s a wink and then they’re gone.</p><p>Nicky’s fingers turn white on the clipboard, and he scans the room for Mark, his usual safety net, something familiar and safe in this crowd of strangers. </p><p>Mark’s standing near where the buyers have congregated to deal with their own set of paperwork. The man beside him is probably as tall as Nicky and broad through the shoulders. His head is bowed over his own clipboard, and his expression is inscrutable as he listens to Mark.</p><p>The man lifts his head, and his eyes unerringly meet Nicky’s across the space. Mark’s still gesturing as he speaks, but the man doesn’t seem to be paying attention. </p><p>Nicky breaks eye contact first, staring down at his checklist. He has no doubt that’s Joe, eyes full of intensity and arms undeniably powerful. </p><p>Mark is probably telling him all sorts of things about Nicky, things Nicky wouldn’t have chosen to share with anyone but him.</p><p>Nicky’s eyes burn and the checklist blurs, but he blinks rapidly to clear his vision. He’s not going to back out, so he has to keep moving forward. He’ll make it through the weekend, and Mark’s curiosity will be satisfied and he’ll never have to do anything like this again.</p><p>He clicks the pen and starts making his way down the list, both trying to imagine doing these things with Joe and trying to ignore the lingering hope that Joe won’t touch him at all.</p><p>When he hands the checklist over to Andy, she gives him a polite nod, but her focus is on another sub who seems to be having second thoughts.</p><p>He doesn’t linger. </p><p>Instead, he straightens his spine and turns to Mark. He’s still talking, and Joe’s still ignoring him to stare at Nicky. </p><p>Nicky bites his lip, then mentally shakes himself. It’s better to get this over with. </p><p>He doesn’t bother trying to smile as he approaches. “Joe?” he asks, and he’s proud his voice doesn’t waiver. </p><p>Joe smiles in a way that might be warm in other situations, but Nicky can only think those teeth could be buried in his skin in the next hour. </p><p>The smile dims, but Joe holds out his hand, “Yes, pleasure to meet you, Nicky.”</p><p>Nicky takes his hand in a firm professional grip. This is a transaction, a business arrangement of sorts, and maybe treating it that way will help. Mark steps up as their hands fall away. </p><p>“You didn’t do too bad, Nicky,” Mark says with a smirk, and Nicky’s shoulders relax with the praise. “Joe, give us a minute?”</p><p>“Of course. Take your time.” Joe skirts around Nicky without touching him and heads toward Andy.</p><p>“I know you’re nervous,” Mark says, drawing Nicky’s attention. </p><p>Mark’s grinning and all but bouncing on his toes. He hasn’t beamed at Nicky like this since… Nicky’s not sure. It’s been weeks, maybe longer.</p><p>“You’re a good sub when you make the effort.” Mark catches his wrist and squeezes. “You will make the effort, won’t you?”</p><p>“Yes, sir.” Nicky keeps his face blank, but the last sliver of unacknowledged hope hurts when it dies. Mark isn’t going to suddenly change his stance on sharing him. It was foolish to hope.</p><p>“I want to know everything he does to you.”</p><p>Nicky nods, silent. All Mark’s been able to talk about since Nicky agreed to the auction is how he can’t wait to hear the details of Nicky’s time with another dom. </p><p>Mark catches his chin and forces their eyes to meet. “Make me proud.”</p><p>Nicky fights the urge to pull free. “Yes, sir.”</p><p>Mark steps back, his hands falling to his sides, the distance stretching between them. “And, Nicky, I expect you to come to me Monday and tell me just how much I know what’s best for you.”</p><p>Words fail, but Mark lifts his chin, eyes narrowing with disapproval.</p><p>“Yes, sir,” he tries.  </p><p>Mark crosses his arms, and Nicky’s not sure he doesn’t start trembling again as he struggles to figure out what he’s done wrong. Mark watches him for a long moment, then shakes his head and sighs. </p><p>“You should thank me for the things I do for you.”</p><p>Nicky swallows and bows his head, “Thank you, sir, for knowing what’s best for me.”</p><p>He jumps when Mark claps him roughly on the shoulder.</p><p>“With any luck, that man will manage to teach you some manners.”</p><p>The fresh wave of panic steals Nicky’s breath, and he has to close his eyes. Was that what they’d been talking about? Mark had told Joe to punish him, maybe told him the things Nicky hated so they could be used against him and Mark could claim ignorance. They’d had their friction lately, but Nicky always gives his best and—</p><p>Mark squeezes his shoulder too tightly. “Be good for him.” Then he’s gone, leaving Nicky alone in the middle of the club.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Buying a stranger and bringing him home is going to be awkward, but is it supposed to be this awkward?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Congratulations.” Nile bumps Joe’s shoulder as he joins the small line for Andy’s table.</p><p>“You too,” Joe says.</p><p>It feels like the wrong thing to say, but he is happy that she’s finally taking her chance with Celeste. Over the past few weeks, the longing looks across the club had reached the point where the betting pool wasn’t even fun anymore.</p><p>The line moves, and Nile accepts a stack of paperwork from Andy.</p><p>When she turns back, she beams at Joe and catches his forearm. “Have fun, yeah?”</p><p>Before he can think of a response, she strides into the crowd, confident in a way Joe wishes he felt right now. He brought this on himself though. Buying someone he knew would’ve made this less awkward, but that would send mixed messages to his one-offs.</p><p>“Not a word,” Joe warns, stepping up to the table.</p><p>Andy’s smirk says enough as she passes him the papers. She probably wanted this to happen just as much as Booker did.</p><p>Joe turns away before she changes her mind and decides to say something embarrassing like tell him he’s proud of him. His eyes unerringly drift back to Nicky. He’s standing where Joe left him, staring into the middle distance, completely alone. It sends a pang through Joe’s chest, and he crosses the space quicker than he’d intended.</p><p>“Did Mark leave?”</p><p>Nicky blinks slowly and lifts tired eyes to his. “He did.”</p><p>Joe wants to ask about the weariness clinging to Nicky’s skin, but it feels too invasive. Besides, it’s Friday night, and Nicky could’ve had a hard week or worked an odd shift. Joe finds he wouldn’t necessarily mind if they sleep early and deal with Joe’s newfound impulsiveness in the morning.</p><p>He’ll have to figure out the bed situation first.</p><p>He’s never going to listen to Booker again.</p><p>“Can we get out of here?” Nicky asks.</p><p>“Yeah.” Joe fights the urge to fidget with the papers. He can’t remember the last time he was this out of his depth. “Of course.”</p><p>“Oh.” Nicky winces. “My bag’s in the back.”</p><p>Joe gestures for him to lead the way, and Nicky walks through a door marked for employees to an area demarcated for the auctioned subs to leave their belongings. Joe watches him slide on a dark canvas jacket that hides most of his shape, fascinated by the evidence of Nicky’s taste, his personality when he’s not doing… this.</p><p>Nicky scoops up a worn duffel bag that looks like it belongs on a football pitch. “Ready.”</p><p>Joe startles, caught staring and smiles. “Good. My place is only two blocks from here.”</p><p>Nicky doesn’t return his smile, but he gives the faintest nod. “Okay.”</p><p>They wind out of the club, and the cool night air is surprisingly nice on Joe’s heated cheeks and the sweat he hadn’t noticed on the back of his neck.</p><p>Nicky doesn’t try to start a conversation, so Joe lets his mind drift back to the painting he was working on just an hour ago. Something’s wrong with the light, he’s pretty sure, but every time he tries to think about it square on, the problem skitters away. That won’t be an issue now. He’ll have a few days to not think about it. Subs don’t like it when he paints instead of paying attention to them.</p><p>Joe leads them into his complex, through the narrow hallways, and up the steep stairs to his flat. Nicky’s eyes make his shoulders itch, but it’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking. With any luck, he’s just as nervous as Joe is and won’t judge him for saying all the wrong things.</p><p>He unlocks his front door and steps into the main room.</p><p>“This is it,” Joe says, weakly, stepping out of the way so Nicky can come into his home. He can’t help but try to see it through Nicky’s eyes. The building is old, and it shows in the worn wooden floors and uneven walls, but Joe’s covered most of the surfaces with art and textiles.</p><p>Nicky hovers at his side, silent.</p><p>Joe hangs his jacket on a peg and tugs off his shoes. “You can leave your bag here for now, if you want, and I’ll give you the quick tour?”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>The bag slides from Nicky’s shoulder, landing next to the door. He drops his jacket on top and seems to realize belatedly he hasn’t closed the door. Once he shuts it gently and turns back to Joe, there’s a new tension in his shoulders.</p><p>“Living room, obviously.” Joe waves to the far end of the room. There’s a four-person table separating this side of the room from the kitchen side. “The kitchen’s small, but it works well enough.” Joe pauses. He’ll have to order groceries later if they’re going to make it through the weekend. “Have you eaten?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Good.” Joe heads for the single archway in the room, dropping the paperwork on the dining table as he passes. “Help yourself to whatever you want in there, whenever.”</p><p>Nicky makes an indistinguishable noise.</p><p>In the small alcove, Joe presses into the corner and gestures to the three open doors in turn. “Bedroom, bathroom, studio-slash-playroom.”</p><p>Nicky sticks his head into each room but doesn’t offer any opinions on the lone bed or the way there’s no evidence of a playroom anymore.</p><p>“So…” Joe tries. “Should we go through the papers?”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>The one-word answers are already starting to grate, but Joe tries to give him grace, nodding and leading them back to the table. He drops into his usual chair, taking Nicky’s checklist from the stack and sliding his own across the table toward an empty seat. Nicky lowers himself more slowly, but Joe concentrates on the list in his hand.</p><p>As much as Joe doesn’t want to admit it, Booker was right. They’re strikingly compatible— impacts, sensations, praise, and intensity— at least when their preferences are boiled down to a series of numbers and boxes. He makes a few mental notes and sets his fingers to mark the things Nicky has listed as hard limits.</p><p>When he looks up, Nicky is staring at the page on the table, a furrow in his brow but his eyes don’t move.</p><p>“Would you like—” he starts, but Nicky’s head snaps up, startled.</p><p>“Sorry,” Nicky says.</p><p>“Hey, I know this is a bit awkward.” Joe says, gently. “We don’t have to…” He doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. They don’t have to do anything all weekend, if that’s what Nicky wants. They don’t have to try to pretend this isn’t an uncomfortable arrangement. “We don’t have to do anything tonight.”</p><p>Nicky bites his lip. “I don’t want to wait.”</p><p>They should have a conversation, casually checking their connection, testing the dynamic, and gaining at least a little trust before they try anything. The process hasn’t failed Joe yet. His one-off subs know that if they can let go, let Joe take care of them while they’re vulnerable for him, he’ll push at their limits until they’re wrecked with more pleasure than they thought they could handle.</p><p>“Please don’t make me wait,” Nicky says.</p><p>“If that’s what you want,” Joe jerks his chin toward the checklist in front of Nicky. “Do you have any questions about what I wrote?”</p><p>“No, I understand.”</p><p>It’s a little unusual for them not to compare the few items that they gave very different ratings, but maybe Nicky’s the sort of sub that likes for the dom to take care of all the little details.</p><p>Joe scans Nicky’s list again, trying to remember which toys he didn’t throw out after the breakup. “We’ll stick with things you gave the highest rating this evening. No sensory deprivation until we know each other better, and use the stoplight system as well as your word.”</p><p>He rubs his thumb over Nicky’s safeword written in careful block letters at the top of the page, searing it into his memory.</p><p>“Stoplight or safeword,” Nicky agrees.</p><p>Joe hesitates before he meets Nicky’s gaze and says, “And if you want to get off when we’re wrapping up the scene, that’s fine too.”</p><p>Joe won’t. He’ll enjoy himself absolutely, but he hasn’t mixed sex and domming since… since, and he can’t risk the extra variable or old memories splitting his concentration. This scene is for Nicky, first and foremost, and his safety is the priority.</p><p>Nicky’s expression shifts but smooths back out too quickly for Joe to parse. “Where do you want me?”</p><p>Joe’s paintings and easels have encroached on most of the playroom’s open space . He’ll have to tidy it up before they can play in there properly.</p><p>“Lock the front door,” Joe orders. “Strip down as much as you’d like and be kneeling in front of the couch when I get back.”</p><p>Nicky deliberately drops his eyes to the tabletop. “Yes, sir.”</p><p>Warmth curls in the base of Joe’s spine as Nicky moves to obey, and Joe revels in the feeling for a moment before he forces himself to move to the playroom. He has to shuffle around a few boxes of paints and an unopened jug of turpentine to unearth the large plastic bin from the corner. It’s emptier than he expected, but he slips further into his dom headspace with each of the toys he lifts out and considers.</p><p>By the time he returns to the living room with two items in hand, the last of his nerves have fled. He aches to see how Nicky looks when he’s soaring, breathless, and trembling with the endorphins Joe’s given him.</p><p>Nicky’s knelt in the center of Joe’s soft rug at an angle where he could see Joe’s approach if he tried, but he holds his picture perfect form instead. The slight rise in his shoulders shows he’s not as relaxed as he’s pretending, but there’s plenty of time to get him there.</p><p>Joe’s steps are nearly silent as he circles around him once, taking a moment to appreciate all the pale skin on display for him. Nicky’s kept his boxer briefs on, but that only draws Joe’s focus to the broad thighs that are just as lovely as he imagined.</p><p>“Look at my hands,” Joe orders, and Nicky lifts his head just far enough to see the two gloves he’s holding, one a deep blue silk, the other a leather vampire glove covered in dozens of tiny but sharp spikes. It’s the perfect combination of sensations to slowly ratchet up the intensity and blur the lines of pain and pleasure until he finds Nicky shatters for him.</p><p>No safewords come, but Nicky’s comfort is too important to leave to chance. “Any objections?”</p><p>Nicky’s throat clicks before he says, “No, sir” and drops his gaze back to the rug.</p><p>Joe frowns. It’s not the enthusiastic “green” he was hoping for, but nerves are obviously an issue. “I expect you to be honest with me.”</p><p>Nicky’s breath catches, and his fingers flex on his thighs. “I understand. No objections, sir.”</p><p>Joe slides on the gloves and waits. There’s a fine line between letting Nicky’s anticipation build until he relaxes and letting his sub’s imagination go too far before a first scene. After a several minutes, Nicky’s chin dips back into proper position, but he seems to be drawing tighter into himself the longer he waits.</p><p>Joe curls his hand, letting the leather creak, and Nicky twitches away, squashing a soft wordless noise.</p><p>“Keep still now,” Joe encourages, but it’s obvious this isn’t the way to get Nicky to relax for him. He takes a step closer.</p><p>A fine tremble starts in Nicky’s shoulders.</p><p>“Please,” he rasps.</p><p>“Please what?”</p><p>Nicky’s voice nearly cracks on a breathless, “Please, sir.”</p><p>Joe reaches out with the silk glove, not touching, not yet. “That wasn’t—“</p><p>Nicky flinches, the movement so small Joe would’ve missed it if every part of him wasn’t locked onto Nicky.</p><p>He jerks his arm back, his stomach leaden. “No.”</p><p>He’s missed the signs Nicky’s body has been trying to show him all night.</p><p>“Red,” Joe gasps, thin and panicked. This tension isn’t nerves. Nicky’s been bracing himself to suffer through whatever Joe would do to him. “Oh, Nicky, red.”</p><p>He jerks off the gloves and throws them vaguely toward the couch, but it’s too late. Nicky’s tremors turn to violent shakes, his chest heaves like he’s drowning, and Joe has no idea what to do.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Joe's safeworded out of the scene, but neither of them can stop Nicky from mentally and physically collapsing.</p><p>[This is the 'subdrop' and 'panic attacks' tags.]</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The moment Joe safewords Nicky’s tightly held control shatters.</p><p>He heaves in one short, wheezing gasp and pitches forward on his knees. Only his survival instinct gets his hands from behind his back before his face can hit the floor. His shoulders jar, but it’s barely a concern when he can’t seem to catch his breath. </p><p>Joe speaks, but Nicky’s ears are ringing and his own ragged gasps are loud in the small room.</p><p>He’s not in the proper position anymore, but his body refuses to unfurl.</p><p>His elbows give out, and he drops closer to the floor, curling around his knees. Eyes squeezed shut, he fights for every little bit of air but it’s not enough. At least he’s protecting most of his vulnerable parts from the dom he’s displeased. </p><p>If there was any chance Nicky wasn’t going to be punished before, he certainly will be now.</p><p>The whine breaks the rhythm of his too quick breaths, but Nicky’s still startled to realize he’s made the sound. </p><p>Joe says something else, but Nicky can’t pay attention when he feels like he’s suffocating. </p><p>His fingers clench uselessly in the rug. He’s desperate for some anchor against the panic that’s consuming him. His stomach roils, and he squeezes his eyes shut, fighting for focus, but his breaths keep coming too fast.</p><p>Knowing he’s panicking doesn’t mean he can make himself stop.</p><p>He doesn’t even know what he did wrong.</p><p>Something drops on his oversensitive back, and Nicky flinches so hard he nearly topples off his knees. His fingers turn to claws in the rug as he struggles to force his muscles to stop shaking. He shouldn’t bring any more attention to his inadequacies as a sub.</p><p>His hair ruffles with a slight breeze before the weight on his back grows. The contact on his bare skin is irritating but not a priority so Nicky lets it go.</p><p>He needs to think. Whatever he did to piss off Mark so much he decided to loan him out, whatever he did to make Joe have to use a safeword, he’s never going to do it again. He just needs to figure out what he did first.</p><p>A cough tears out of his throat, and Nicky chokes, his chest spasming as the coughing fit takes control. His ribs ache, and moisture trickles from his eyes.</p><p>Joe speaks again, or maybe he never stopped, and the world tilts. </p><p>It takes far too long for Nicky to understand he’s being moved. He’s pulled upright, rolled onto one hip and shifted around until he’s seated. Pins and needles explode along his feet, and he draws his knees in, arms tucked tight to his chest. It’s uncomfortable, but he stops coughing and he’s desperate for even the illusion of safety.</p><p>Spots swarm his vision, and his stomach tries to revolt, even though he could barely handle a light dinner hours ago. </p><p>He sobs as he realizes he’s going to pass out before he gets his body back under control.</p><p>Maybe that’s better than facing the consequences of his failure.</p><p>Mark had asked one thing of him— one— and Nicky hadn’t even managed that without embarrassing both of them. Now he’s pissed off a dom he’s just met, and no one’s expecting to see him until his shift Monday morning. An angry dom could do a lot of damage in two days.</p><p>“Please,” he says, the word as cracked and brittle as he feels.</p><p>He’s better than this. He can be good. He simply wasn’t ready, and whatever he did wrong, he won’t do it again. He just needs Joe to tell him how to do better.</p><p>“Please,” Nicky begs again.</p><p>“What do you need?” </p><p>The immediate response is too close to Nicky’s ear, and he shies away, curling tighter into himself even as his muscles protest the tension. </p><p>It’s too much effort to try to explain. Another panicked whine slips out, and he keeps his eyes closed, shaking his head despite the sharp pain building in his temple.</p><p>“Okay,” Joe says gently, too gently for this massive of a fuck-up. “Not yet. Breathe for me, Nicky.”</p><p>Movement starts on Nicky’s back, and some distant part of his brain tracks something rubbing up and down his spine. The motion is almost too much stimulation, and he doesn’t think he wants to be touched, but the feeling is muffled and soft enough that it’s almost soothing.</p><p>He hasn’t done anything to deserve being soothed, but it’s easy to latch onto the rhythm, matching his breathing with the strokes over his back.</p><p>He ought to be fighting to get through this, but his head is heavy and it’s too far late to prove he’s a good sub. Defeated, he lets his head droop and tries to breathe.</p><p>“That’s it,” Joe says. “Keep breathing like that.”</p><p>Joe keeps talking, his voice its own soothing cadence now that Nicky isn’t gasping too loudly to hear it.</p><p>Trying to parse the words makes the pain in his temple flare. Whatever’s around him tightens. It should feel constricting, but instead it’s undeniable and grounding. His breaths slow a little more, and his headache lessens. He wiggles his toes and flexes his fingers, trying to force them to relax. </p><p>Joe’s stream of words don’t stop. </p><p>How long has he been talking with no response? Nicky ought to be paying attention.</p><p>A spike of panic steals his breath again, and suddenly he wants nothing more than to fall asleep and wake to find this was all a dream. Maybe he could wake on Monday with all of this over, Mark holding his close and telling him he did so good they don’t have anything to fight about anymore.</p><p>“Easy now,” Joe says, shattering the dream. “You’re safe.”</p><p>Nicky doesn’t believe him, but he’s too weary to argue. Between one breath and the next, the fight drops out of him. His legs lose their tension, his knees dropping open, his shoulders falling away from his ears, and he sags against whatever’s propping him upright.</p><p>“There you go,” Joe says. “Just like that. Keep breathing for me. You’re doing good, Nicky.”</p><p>Nicky shakes his head and winces at the burst of pain. He’s not doing good. </p><p>“You’re safe,” Joe continues. “Just relax. You’re with me, and I’m not going to touch you anymore than this until you tell me otherwise, okay? You have the power here, Nicky, and you are doing good. You’re in charge, so anything you decide to do right now is a good thing, okay?”</p><p>There’s something wrong with that logic, but Nicky can’t focus long enough to find it.</p><p>“Can you tell me what you need?”</p><p>He wants to sleep, but that can’t be what Joe means. Joe didn’t spend that money on someone who would sleep through their time together.</p><p>“Anything you want,” Joe promises.</p><p>He wants to go home. He wants to curl up in his own bed, sleep off this terrible week.</p><p>He wants Mark to admit this auction was a terrible idea, that he should’ve listened when Nicky said he didn’t want to be shared. It’s impossible to even imagine Mark saying those words. </p><p>Joe keeps talking, but Nicky barely notices.</p><p>Mark would never admit he was wrong.</p><p>Mark will never <em>believe</em> he was wrong about this auction, about anything, maybe.</p><p>Nicky takes the slowest, deepest breath he can manage and tunes back into Joe’s words.</p><p>“Take as much time as you need. As much as you want, Nicky. There’s no rush. It’s just you and me, and I’m only going to do what you tell me, and until you can tell me what you want, we’re going to stay just like this, nothing more, nothing less, okay? That’s fine. I’m here as long as you need. I didn’t mean to press too quickly. I said you’re in charge, and then go demanding answers you shouldn’t have to give. You’ll come back in your own time. I’m sorry.”</p><p>Nicky’s eyes shoot open and his head snaps up so fast pain lances through his head. He yelps, rearing back and nearly toppling sideways, but something keeps him from falling.</p><p>“Oh, fuck,” Joe says. “That wasn’t my intention. I can stop talking now, if you want? I’m making this worse?”</p><p>Nicky blinks until the pain recedes before he dares look at Joe again. </p><p>It’s hard to remember the solid, intimidating dom with the sharp teeth and dangerous arms when Joe’s eyes are suspiciously red and his face is creased with distress. </p><p>“Hi,” Joe says. His mouth pinches even as he tries to smile.</p><p>It makes Nicky too aware of his own face, tight with dried tears and other fluids he doesn’t want to think about. He tries to lift his hand, but his arm is trapped. When he looks down, he stares at the blankets, at least three of them, wrapped tightly around his body, keeping him warm and completely covered except his head.</p><p>“Nicky?” </p><p>Repeating his name is an obvious tactic to keep him grounded after the one-two punch of this panic attack and subdrop, but Nicky still likes the way Joe says it. </p><p>“Is there any way I can help?” Joe asks.</p><p>His tone is so gentle shame flares in Nicky’s chest. His face burns, and he doesn’t know if it’s worse for Joe to think that’s from the crying or to understand the truth. It’s suddenly too hot in this mound of blankets, and Joe is far too close. </p><p>Nicky’s breath hitches once, a painful reminder of how easily he could slip again, but he viciously drags the corner of one of the blankets over his face, letting the roughness ground him.</p><p>He opens his mouth, but he has to swallow twice before he can form a word. “Water?”</p><p>“Okay,” Joe says with a more genuine smile. “I can do that. I’ll have to let you go though?”</p><p>Nicky’s brow furrows.</p><p>“Slowly,” Joe says as if that answers anything.</p><p>Nicky’s back tingles, and he squirms through the discomfort. </p><p>It’s only when Joe’s hand lifts away entirely that Nicky realizes Joe never stopped rubbing along his spine over the blankets, soothing his nerves and giving him a rhythm to cling to if he needed it. Now that it’s stopped, his body feels like it might fly apart on him.</p><p>“I’m going to move now,” Joe warns. “The couch is here, if you need it.”</p><p>That sentence also doesn’t make sense, but Joe shifts his weight, and Nicky tips with him.</p><p>Oh.</p><p>His side has been pressed along Joe’s front for however long this has gone on. Nicky ducks his head and forces his body to support its own weight so Joe can slide out from between Nicky and the couch.</p><p>On his feet, Joe pauses, but Nicky can’t bring himself to look up. He already feels so small.</p><p>He shifts into the warm space Joe’s left behind, dropping his head to the couch cushion to rest now that his breaths come naturally and the pain has dulled.</p><p>“Still with me?” Joe asks.</p><p>Nicky opens eyes he doesn’t remember closing.</p><p>“Drink this?” Joe says. “Before you pass out?”</p><p>Joe holds out a plastic cup, and Nicky unburies a hand from the mess of blankets he’s thoroughly wrapped in to take it. The water is cold and soothing against his throat. He forces himself to drink slowly both for fear of nausea and because it’s nice to have something harmless to do.</p><p>He manages to set the mostly empty cup on the floor before his eyes close themselves again, and tired of fighting, Nicky surrenders to sleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Now that Nicky's asleep, Joe tries to keep from spiraling into a domdrop on his own.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Once Nicky passes out, Joe a single long, drawn-out breath, helplessness swelling inside of him, before he snaps back to attention. His tailbone aches from sitting on the floor so long, and his hand tingles from rubbing against the blanket over and over, but those are background issues.</p>
<p>A sub in his care needs him.</p>
<p>He moves the empty cup to the side table and carefully shifts the blankets until gravity makes Nicky’s arm falls back under the covers. He’s been methodical about preventing skin-on-skin contact since the moment he safeworded, and he’s not about to ruin that hard work just because the end is in sight.</p>
<p>The end of this night, at least. He’ll worry about morning later.</p>
<p>Crouching down, he wraps his arms around Nicky and the blankets, tugging until Nicky’s head rests on Joe’s chest. Standing with Nicky’s deadweight is a brief struggle. They are nearly the same size, but Joe is determined to give him somewhere comfortable to rest.</p>
<p>In his bedroom, he drops Nicky’s curled form on the duvet harder than he’d intended, but Nicky only snuffles softly.</p>
<p>A knot loosens in Joe’s shoulders. </p>
<p>Nicky’s asleep, not unconscious.</p>
<p>He takes the extra second to tuck the top-most blanket tighter around Nicky before he backs away. It’s probably not the best position for a night’s sleep, but Joe’s not going to touch him more than he has to, even over the blankets. Not until Nicky gives him express permission, he’d said.</p>
<p>It’s a promise that’s both easy and incredibly difficult to keep.</p>
<p>Joe’s fingers tremble, but he tries to ignore it. It’s hardly the first sign of stress from getting pulled out of his dom headspace so abruptly. He’s the one who stopped the scene, and it was undeniably the right call to make, but his body doesn’t know what to do with that whiplash combined with the bone-deep fear that nearly overwhelmed him when Nicky collapsed on his carpet sobbing in terror.</p>
<p>His tremors lessen eventually, and Joe shakes out his shoulders, diving back into action. He flicks on the lamp on the nightstand. Waking in a dark room on a stranger’s bed could easily tip Nicky back into a panic.</p>
<p>In the doorway, Joe hesitates, glancing back at Nicky’s prone form on the bed. Nicky shouldn’t have to wake alone, and more selfishly, Joe doesn’t want him out of his sight. There’s little chance of him waking soon, so Joe takes the risk.</p>
<p>Moving quickly and as quietly as he can, he snags his phone from his jacket at the front door and shoves it in his back pocket. If even a few of the things Nicky said in his panicked state are true, Joe needs to contact people. </p>
<p>He fills two bottles with water, chooses a couple bags of snacks, and grabs a bottle of painkillers. From the way Nicky had winced with fast movement and kept his eyes squeezed shut even tucked away from the light, he certainly has a headache.</p>
<p>Joe slips back into the bedroom, dumps the items next to the lamp, and pulls out his phone. It takes two attempts to put in the correct passcode, and he hesitates on the text screen long enough that he has to unlock the phone again.</p>
<p>The trembles build again now that he’s stopped moving, and he scowls, punching out a short message to Booker.</p>
<p>
  <em>’Call me.’</em>
</p>
<p>Joe flicks the phone on silent. When it doesn’t light up, he shoves it back in his pocket. With Booker, he either calls immediately or sees the message hours later. There’s rarely anything in between. </p>
<p>Sparing another glance at Nicky, Joe dashes back to the living room. The big armchair in his mismatched collection of furniture is light enough to lift soundlessly and carry back to the bedroom. After a moment’s consideration, he sets it in a corner, leaving the path to the door unobstructed.</p>
<p>With an armful of clothes, he ducks into the bathroom to change. He’s not sure if he’ll sleep tonight, but the looser loungewear soothes something he cannot name. </p>
<p>In the kitchen, he fills an icepack and wraps it in a tea towel. It’s a risky choice, but he’s not going to wake Nicky to take the painkillers. </p>
<p>He balances the bundle on Nicky’s forehead, staying vigilant against any accidental skin contact. Nicky doesn’t move. It’s not surprising, but it makes Joe’s heart ache a little more, and he retreats to the armchair.</p>
<p>The high back curves around Joe, offering its own support, but he cannot relax yet. </p>
<p>He pulls out his phone again. Booker hasn’t answered, and Joe rereads his message. Maybe Booker read it as Joe wanting to give him shit about being talked into impulsively buying a sub to take home. Maybe Booker thinks he had last minute jitters or cold feet and wanted reassurance before he started a scene. </p>
<p>Hysteria bubbles in Joe’s throat, and he squeezes his eyes shut until it passes.</p>
<p>He types and deletes three messages before sending, <em>’Book, this is bad.’</em></p>
<p>The time on the phone is too early for Booker to be asleep on a Friday night. It’s more likely he’s still at the club or he went home with Andy and Quynh. Joe can’t blame the three of them for being too caught up in one another to notice their phones. Hell, if Joe hadn’t grabbed his phone just for this, he wouldn’t have heard any messages from Booker tonight.</p>
<p>It’s also late enough for Joe to wonder just how long they were sitting on the living room floor. That draws his attention back to Nicky, the small strip of pale skin between the towel and the blankets resting against Nicky’s chin.</p>
<p>Joe rips his eyes away and sends a third message. <em>’Find out everything you can about Nicky’s dom.’</em></p>
<p>He tips his head back to rest against the chair and lets his phone drop onto the cushion. </p>
<p>With nothing left to do for Nicky, the trembles start again and he squeezes his eyes shut. His heart races, and his torso shudders even as he fails to get a full breath. He fights for calm, but it’s out of his control now and expecting a hard crash doesn’t make it any easier to handle one. His short nails dig into his palms. A sharp sob escapes, and he presses his lips together trying to stay quiet, even though it’d probably take a miracle to wake Nicky.</p>
<p>Why hadn’t he noticed something was wrong sooner?</p>
<p>He should’ve pressed harder for an actual conversation at the table. He shouldn’t have assumed Nicky was always so quiet and hard to read. He shouldn’t have assumed <em>anything</em>. They should’ve at least compared checklists.</p>
<p>Joe’s vision whites out, and he scrambles to grab the arms of the chair. </p>
<p>Were Nicky’s answers even true?</p>
<p>Sweeping nausea steals his breath.</p>
<p>He should’ve noticed the signs. His role as a dom, above everything else, is to make sure his sub is safe, and he failed. Nicky had been afraid of him, maybe from the start. </p>
<p>Joe deserves to be blacklisted for this. He deserves so much worse.</p>
<p>A sound he doesn’t recognize tears out of his throat, and Joe snaps back to the room. He can’t fall apart over this. He has to be ready, in case Nicky needs him again.</p>
<p>He releases his death grip on the chair, and slowly the shaking stops. His breathing stabilizes, and his chest aches a little less. Wiping the wetness from his face, he takes one of the water bottles, drinking half of it in one long pull. His best bet now is to treat himself like he would a sub that’s just dropped. His process may not be the best, since it took so long to get Nicky back even a little, but Joe doesn’t have the bandwidth to change it right now. It’ll have to be enough.</p>
<p>Nicky’s either on top of or curled up in every blanket in the flat, but Joe’s skin is too hot and clammy to handle anything touching him anyway. Instead, he snags the bag of dried fruit from the nightstand and focuses on chewing until he feels marginally more stable.</p>
<p>He drops the bag back on the nightstand and fumbles his phone checking for messages. </p>
<p>There’s nothing.</p>
<p>Joe blows out a noisy sigh to break the silence and forces his body to relax just a little further. Sleep isn’t going to come for a long while, if at all, but maybe he can find something close to it. His eyes fall half-closed, and he squirms into a more comfortable position to watch over the man in his care.</p>
<p>It’s certainly the least he can do.</p>
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